


Semicolon Dash Dash Semicolon

by ThatAnnoyingBella



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 02:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14250867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatAnnoyingBella/pseuds/ThatAnnoyingBella
Summary: A fan work of the “1-in-24” (or as I call it, “no-oh-no”) style/AU written by @antineutrinos.





	Semicolon Dash Dash Semicolon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [909](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12728175) by [antineutrinos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/antineutrinos/pseuds/antineutrinos). 



> So I’ve gone and got the dumb idea of going on the xfactor into my head and I can’t shake it. I was sort of thinking of singing yog songs. Am I crazy? Yes, probably. Will I do it? Uhhh, maybe. But I really want to. I love people, I’d be so much fun to see what it’s like! I’m kind of lazy and I hate travelling to the city, but maybe I’ll do it.  
> Anyway, because I haven’t posted in ages, here’s something to remember me by when I’m rich and famous. I wrote it right after 909 came out. Or maybe it was 505.. anyway, this AU makes me world turn and @antineutrinos is my best friend ever!  
> Here we go!

Smith sat beside Trott, watching his friend’s long fingers flex around the guitar. Trott was small, but there was a wiry strength to his arms, something in the way his tendons jumped and his skin shifted that spoke of a quiet ability. He moved smoothly from Dsus to E, A. The easy and comfortable way he held the instrument irritated Smith. It’d taken him months to learn to perform chords without cutting and straining his fingers, and yet here was Trott, after just a few weeks of learning the guitar, right at home with it. It was as though he’d always played it, like he was born to move like that. And Smith wasn’t.

That was the thing about Trott. He was so good at everything - except math, which he still beat Smith at. He was always so polite to people, so incredibly genuine and goddamn nice that it was impossible to spite him. He learned things so quickly. Smith had always lived by “practice makes perfect,” but with Trott, everything came naturally. He was an amazing musician and hilarious, and able to fight, and able to crush Smith at Trails no matter how hard Smith tried.

Smith was jealous, but he didn’t want to be Trott. He loved being around Trott, loved having him as a friend, and fuck, maybe that was the problem. He missed Trott like a limb, and no amount of joking around or talking or playing games made it go away. It was such a strong yearning, such a painful affliction. He’d lay in his bed at night, tears rising up and chest a cavernous hollow. He’d read something romantic, would even sometimes stoop to hugging his pillow, all in an effort to make it go away, but it just wouldn’t.

Trott was the only person in the world who truly understood Smith. He was the only person Smith ever touched, or even got close to. Trott was the one person who Smith never felt anxious around. Pressure and fear melted away when Trott was near.

“Smith?” Trott’s voice cracked, dark and deep to high and squeaky, and Smith’s heart ached. He couldn’t do this. He met Trott’s eyes, saw concern there, and felt a rush of fury. How dare he pretend to care? Didn’t he know what he was doing? And really, Smith knew that he didn’t. He knew that Trott was just trying to be a good friend, and it was suffocating him. It was too much.

“Smi-”

“I heard you the first time.” Oh no. He didn’t mean to snap. But Trott didn’t even flinch, and somehow, that made things worse. A little lopsided grin was growing on Trott’s face, and Smith couldn’t handle it. His lips were so plump and cute, and his eyes are so dark, his teeth so starkly white. He was beautiful.

“What are you thinking about, sunshine?” Trott played a five chord riff, fast and fluid, teasing, “I know I’m stunning, mate, but come on!” 

Smith realised it then. That Trott would never love him in the way that he loved Trott. It wasn’t the words, it wasn’t the tone, or the smile, or anything else. Smith just knew. He felt a breakdown rising like a crushing wave and, looking at Trott’s happy little grin, wanted to hurt him.

“As if I’d ever think about you like that, you little fuck.” Smith’s words sounded like a joke, but Trott’s face still dropped. The bitter, sarcastic tone and the anger of Smith’s face were clear.

“Hey, what-”

“Shut up! Okay?!” Smith yells. Trott leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. The guitar slid to the end of the neck strap, forgotten. “Fuck, you’re so fucking annoying.”

“Woah,” Trott said, obviously hurt. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Smith couldn’t stop, not now. He stood, tears blurring his vision, and strode towards to door, all but running away.

“Fuck- I can’t deal with you right now.” Smith said, pulling the door handle. He looked back, seeing Trott’s confused and hurt expression, and his voice failed him. “I’m sorry.” And Smith walked out.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, that was pretty short. But as a wise sectiod recently told me, sometimes it’s the short ones that say the most. I’m any case, this ‘verse is possibly my favourite after asexual!Tom. So there.


End file.
